Maggie was not frightened. She had her two protectors, Gerta and Caitrina. The whisky man’s wife and daughter who had come to the keep for safety. They had arrived as Talorc and his men were setting out. She wished he hadn’t, but Talorc explained to the mother and daughter that Maggie did not like the night. Not only had they insisted on sleeping with her, they made sure she had the middle. Talorc would owe her for this, having her squashed between an old woman who made noises Brutus could be proud of, and her daughter, who continuously puffed the covers with hot wind. There would be no cabbage in tomorrow's dinner. Not that it wasn't too late already. The bed would never be the same. Maggie scowled and rolled to face Gerta only to be poked by straw coming through the mattress. She shifted, fidgeted and tried to focus on something other than her sleeping companions. There certainly was enough on her mind for, thanks to the Bold’s belief in her, she had found her calling. What she hadn’t known, though she realized now her mother had always known, she had been prepared for this moment from the day she had been born.
